


Not Astounded By the Suns or the Moons

by Emjayelle



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alien Planet, Alternate Universe - Space, Dirty Talk, Fantasizing, M/M, Prince!Merlin, Sibling Incest, Underage - Freeform, consensual voyeurism, more details in author's note
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-13
Updated: 2015-04-13
Packaged: 2018-03-22 18:48:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3739573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emjayelle/pseuds/Emjayelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Arthur was eighteen when Merlin saved his life for the first time, and by the time he’s twenty, Arthur loves his brother as much as he loves his Kingdom, his planet, his own life.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Astounded By the Suns or the Moons

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for Tavern Tales' January theme "Childhood Friends, Siblings, Besties' as a way to get back into writing a little bit. It didn't work much, but hey, some incest porn came out of it, so. 
> 
> **warnings** : Make sure you've taken a good look at the tags. In the story Merlin and Arthur are half-siblings who have been raised together. There is no sexual contact between them in the story but there's talk about it and fantasizing and Arthur jerking off in front of (a willing) Merlin. Arthur is 20 and Merlin is 16, so Merlin is _technically_ underage, but is of age within the universe of the story. 
> 
> thanks for sorrylatenew for giving it a quick read.
> 
> title from Stevie Nicks' "Planets of the Universe"

 

 

 

When he was four, Arthur almost died. 

A bunch of Mercia III terrorist pricks decided it was a splendid idea to abduct the heir of Albion V for greater justice. Or ransom. Or whatever the fuck their problem was at the time. To be honest—in this case especially—Arthur cannot bring himself to really give a fuck, seeing as _he almost died_. 

The point is, it didn’t work. Obviously. And his father—Uther Pendragon XII, Lord of Camelot the Shining Star, the Crystal City, the jewel of the Northern Quadrant, and _King_ , Supreme Ruler of Albion V, thank you very _fucking_ much—retaliated in true Albionian fashion: by obliterating half of their little, barely habitable moon. 

After that, Albion needed a back-up plan. That is to say, the Pendragon line needed a second heir in case the first one—Arthur—met an untimely end. There must always be a Pendragon on the throne of Albion V, his father used to tell him when Arthur was younger, making him stand on the highest parapet of the Eastern Tower so he could see all that would be his one day. Secretly, Arthur thought it was bloody rich of him, since Uther usurped the throne from the previous Family in what had come to be known as The Dragon Wars, but he could understand the paranoia. He also didn’t want to complain or anything seeing as he was the fucking heir. There are clear advantages to being a prince. Advantages Arthur was more than happy to benefit from.

The problem was that the Queen was now as barren as half of Mercia III. So it was decided that they’d stick his father’s precious royal semen into the Queen’s most favoured handmaiden instead.

And this is how Albion V got its second prince, and Arthur got himself a brother.

 

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

 

 

Over the years, Arthur has gone from hating Merlin—when he was born, all rosy and screaming and bloody ugly with his scrunched up face and wet dark eyes, alive and into the world only because Arthur might die one day and if he did, this mass of squishy limbs and unending noise would take Arthur’s rightful place. To being annoyed with him—when Merlin would wobble along behind him, taking with him a gaggle of wet nurses, teachers, and cooing court attendants for which Arthur had _no need_ anymore, he was seven! To tolerating him—when Merlin first showed his total inadequacy at any military skills at which Arthur excelled, unable to even show basic understanding and capabilities for piloting their most rudimentary fighters, wrestling, fighting, or shooting, leaving Arthur the undisputed best in all that mattered. To liking him—when Merlin proved to be actually pretty great at strategy, crystal reading, and lying smoothly to get him and Arthur out of scrapes, or into the larder in the kitchens, their fingers perpetually stained purple and blue with Nemethian pears, as they licked juice off their wrists with greedy swipes of their tongues, Arthur grabbing at Merlin’s hand to get some precious drops off the pad of Merlin’s thumb between his lips, sending Merlin giggling against his shoulder.

 

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

 

 

Arthur is eighteen when Merlin saves his life for the first time

Merlin read a crystal, the vision, he’ll say later, so vivid he thought for one moment it had happened. 

It sends him stumbling into Arthur’s chambers with great noise, with wide scared eyes and long uncoordinated fourteen year old limbs flailing about. His hands are everywhere on Arthur, scrabbling at Arthur’s shirt, arms, face, fingers trembling on his cheeks until Arthur can calm him down and make him talk sense.

That night, he lets Merlin sleep in his bed. That night, he kisses Merlin’s cheeks and forehead and nose. That night, he stays awake through the long dark hours with Merlin’s legs wrapped around his, and his mouth open over Arthur’s naked shoulder.

When the third of the moons has fallen in the North, and the Twin Suns have risen in the South—blinding rays glinting over the crystal towers of Camelot in that particularly splendid way they do on summer days that used to make Arthur think that surely the whole of the galaxy could see their city shine, and all the people, in all the worlds would think of their Greatness—they’ll go to their father, Arthur thinks. He’ll hold Merlin’s hand like they haven’t done since Merlin was three.

“I’ll never let anything happen to you,” Merlin whispers in the crook of Arthur’s neck while they are still in bed, urgent and devoted, lips dragging over Arthur’s stubble. “Never. I’ll keep you safe. I’ll keep you—I promise. They’ll never get you, Arthur. Never. Nevernevernevernever. I’ll stop them all, I’ll—” 

Arthur wraps an arm around him, hand at the back of Merlin’s head, fingers digging into his soft dark hair, and angles his hips over so Merlin won’t feel Arthur’s morning erection. He can feel Merlin’s as it pokes against his thigh, a solid counterpoint to the wet words he’s pushing into Arthur’s skin. He keeps Merlin’s face there, hidden, while he promises and swears and cries devotions around Arthur’s name, so that Merlin won’t see the red of Arthur’s blush, won’t be ashamed of being held like this by his brother. Merlin’s body is almost as tall as Arthur’s now, but leaner, more angular, and Arthur is so aware of it in that moment, shame prickles hotly under his skin.

When the assassin Merlin has foreseen shows up, Uther has him arrested, then orders him executed. They push Merlin’s crystal—the one he’d seen Arthur’s death in—down the assassin’s throat until he chokes, and hang his dead body from the highest tower where it burns for five hours. Merlin watches without blinking. Arthur watches Merlin.

 

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

 

 

Arthur was eighteen when Merlin saved his life for the first time, and by the time he’s twenty, Arthur loves his brother as much as he loves his Kingdom, his planet, his own life.

 

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

 

 

When he thinks back on it though, Arthur doesn’t really know _exactly_ when Merlin went from his gangly beloved brother, to… to this. Still his brother, still gangly, still beloved above all others, and yet so much more as well. More in a way that Arthur cannot reveal, cannot let anyone know. In a way that has him look away when Merlin pushes himself out of their bath, muscles moving in his back, but not quickly enough for Arthur not to see the long lines of his legs. His movements are smoother, somehow, than they were even six months ago, filled in and precise and new. He doesn’t look away quickly enough not to see Merlin’s soft cock between his pale thighs.

It’s not like Arthur hasn’t seen Merlin naked before, but it’s different now. Summer light filters through the high coloured windows of the Bathing Hall and bounces off the tiles and paints mosaics over the stones full of quartz specs. It’s the morning of Merlin’s sixteenth birthday, and he smiles and laughs at Arthur as he ties the ends of his robe around his body—Pendragon crest bloody red over his heart. Water drops still cling to Merlin’s eyelashes and hair, running down his neck and over his sharp collarbones, down into the robe. Now, of all times, the fluttering need settles heavy inside Arthur and into his cock, impossible to ignore.

Today, Merlin comes of age. Today, the whole city, the whole Kingdom, the whole of Albion V and all their colonies across the Quadrant celebrate their Prince’s moving from boyhood into manhood. Today, all Arthur wants to do is push his brother on his back and take his plush lips between his own, or better yet, put his mouth on that soft dick of his until it’s hard on his tongue.

Arthur slips a hand around his own hard cock under the water without thinking, only aware of what he’s done when Merlin gives a snort.

“I’ll leave you to it, shall I?” he says, looking down at Arthur’s hand then at his face with a grin, simply at ease with it, like the little cheeky fucker he’s been since he’s hit puberty.

“Fuck off,” Arthur says, and refuses to move his hand, gives his cock a pull instead, just to show Merlin that he doesn’t care, isn’t shy about it either. 

Once, last year, while they were on a diplomatic visit with their father to Gawant—their nearest neighbour, a little planet with orange skies, tall buildings made of sharply faceted blue stones the colour of Albion V’s seas, with a princess of golden hair and great, bouncing tits Arthur entertained the idea of sucking into his mouth—Arthur heard Merlin jerking off.

At the time, he was drunk and Merlin, he’s sure, thought him asleep. But he distinctly remembers hearing Merlin’s harsh pants muffled under his hand, the unmistakable sound of spitting and the moan that had quickly followed as Merlin took his dick in hand. Arthur remembers smiling, not being turned on particularly by it, not more than any other thing pertaining to sex would anyway. Meaning, yes, he got a stiffy listening to his brother jerking it, trying desperately to be quiet about it, even though Arthur could clearly hear the little punched out sounds he made in the meat of his arm. He remembers finding it funny too, thinking that Merlin didn’t have to worry about Arthur hearing him, remembers playing with the dry rim of his hole as he listened, too tired and drunk to do anything else, falling asleep like that.

But now, with Merlin looking down at him, impossibly older it seems, with an arched eyebrow and a smirk on his lips, Arthur wants to hear all those sounds again. Except he wants to be the one to make Merlin whimper and moan and cry out. 

The thought of it makes him involuntarily thrust into his fist, open his legs more. Heat fills his belly, spreads along his thighs, and his breath feels stuck in his lungs. He looks at his brother looking at him, at Arthur’s hard cock with no idea that it’s the thought of him, of wanting him, the thought of the way Merlin would look with Arthur fucking into him, that made him hard that way.

Arthur should feel more shame than he does, he thinks, and maybe he will once this moment ends, but not now. Now he thrusts into his fist again, makes a ring of his thumb and index finger while drawing up his balls with the others and thinks he could come like this, fucking his own hand while Merlin—his beloved brother—looks at him.

Merlin’s smile fades a little. His lips part as he stares at the head of Arthur’s cock pushing in and out of his fist. Arthur has to bite the inside of his cheek when he sees Merlin’s tongue poke out, lick at his bottom lip.

“Arthur—” 

Fucking hell, he sounds all choked and raw in the throat like when he has to pretend to not be as winded as he is after a training session, and Arthur thinks that maybe they—maybe Merlin—

Merlin’s hand has closed over the railing of the bath’s stairs, and he puts a foot into the water, then catches himself, pulls out, clears his throat. “I don’t—”

Later, Arthur will explain what he does next as his older brother instincts kicking in. Not the ones that he clearly lacks when it comes to actually _wanting to fuck his younger brother blind, wrecking him over on his dick_ , but the ones he’s always had, that made him protect Merlin, always, as they grew up. Because Arthur is stronger and faster and _older_ , and it’s his job to protect Merlin if he can, even as Merlin seems to think it’s his job to protect Arthur.

He swallows, takes a deep, shuddering breath and tries to ground himself, pushing back against the walls of the the bath, settling the wild beating of his heart.

When he thinks he can control his voice, he says, “Just watch,” as solid and confident as he can, which proves easier than he thought, especially when he sees Merlin blink with a little sag of his shoulders that Arthur chooses to think of as relief. His hand clenches and unclenches a few times on the railing.

“Yeah?” he says, looking up from Arthur’s cock, his face so open and eager Arthur has to close his eyes, says, “Shit,” and throws his head back against the edge of the bath.

“Yeah, idiot,” Arthur says. “Someone has to show you how it’s done.” He’s giving Merlin an out, he knows, because he has no idea what’s going on in that fucking, stubborn head of his, and if he has to pretend that this is all just some brothers bonding over sex, then by all the Gods he will. “Watch and learn.”

Merlin snorts, and Arthur rolls his head to the side to look at him through slanted eyes. 

“I’ve done that before,” Merlin says, offended and dismissive, but Arthur catches the way his right hand goes to his robe, fingers twitching in the fabric over his cock. Arthur bets it’s at least half-hard by now.

“But do you do it right,” he says, focusing back on his hand, pulling harshly on his cock the way he likes. He’s always loved the way it looks too, how he pulls the foreskin all the way up over the head and into his fist, then fast down, baring it. It’s so red and full in his hand, and Arthur has to bite the inside of his cheek again not to tell Merlin how it’s all because of him. Look how hard he’s made Arthur, and would he let Arthur stick it into him—in his arse, or his mouth, Arthur isn’t too fussed—? 

The only sounds in the room are the soft splashing of the water as Arthur moves his arm, his and Merlin’s breathing, and the muffled sound of the people outside, slowly filling in into the courtyard for tonight’s ceremony. The sun has moved higher to the East, and a stray ray spills blue and yellow over Merlin’s robe, catching in sharp relief the distended fabric over his dick.

Arthur gets his other hand over his balls, plays with them a little. “See?” he says, still looking at Merlin through half-closed eyes, playing along at this game they’ve sort of created for themselves. Just an older brother showing his sibling how to get himself off. Normal stuff, he’s sure. “Play with them a little. Feels good.” He moans, doesn’t try to muffle it, and lets the sound echo in the tall empty space.

Merlin has shoved his free hand into the pocket of his robe and Arthur can see him fumbling at his cock through it, maybe trying to get the edge off. Gods, he must be totally hard by now.

“I don’t—” Merlin starts, stops, twists his face and Arthur laughs. It’s sort of annoyed and disgusted, the same one he used to make when their mum would force him to eat Essetir celery, the most loathed of all vegetables, so loathed Merlin had been seven when he made Arthur promise he’d ban the damn things once he became King. 

Arthur’s chest fills with fondness, but strangely it doesn’t put him off the whole thing, doesn’t make him back off, on the contrary, he feels more at ease. It’s just Merlin, and Arthur loves him like he loves no one else.

“Not your thing?” he says, rolling his head back and looking up into the high ceiling full of light with a smile. “Doesn’t do much for you?” Merlin makes a noise. “What then—?”

“Nip—uh, nipples.” Merlin says, fast and breathy, and Arthur smiles more, closes his eyes and arches his back, keeping his steady rhythm on his cock.

“Yeah?” he says, then raises his hand from his balls to his left nipple. He rubs it with his palm, then tweaks it. “Oh yeah. Nipples are good too.” He’d never really thought of Merlin’s nipples before, but he’s sure as fuck thinking about them now. “Ever had someone suck on them, Merlin?”

“N—no.”

“It’s amazing. If you’re into that.” Arthur flicks at his nipple a few times, then twists it again, pushing into his own touch with his head on the edge of the bath and his shoulders off, back bowing and sending his cock further into his grip. He pretends not to hear Merlin’s low whine.

“After tonight,” he continues, eyes closed. “You’ll have your choice of partners. So many will be willing to fuck you, or be fucked by you, or whatever you like.” Arthur’s gone into his own head now, he keeps working his cock, slow and steady, keeps playing at his nipple, and thinks of Merlin, open and naked under him, thinks of getting his mouth on his nipples the way Merlin clearly digs if the breathy little noises he’s making just watching Arthur are anything to go by. “You let them lick at them first, get them all wet. Then, little bites, just the edge of their teeth until your nipples are hard, hard peaks.” Arthur rolls his nipple on his palm. “Then, good sucks, so that they’re all puffy and red and wet. So sensitive, Merlin. You let them do that to you over and over until you can’t stand it anymore.”

And Arthur can see it, on the backdrop of his closed eyelids, Merlin spread on his back, skin red and splotchy the way he gets when they sparre, bitten lips, and the wetness over his hard, hard, worked over nipples shimmery in the low light of Arthur’s chambers, with the triplet moons high in the sky. 

A beautiful, fuckable secret only for Arthur’s eyes.

He thinks he’d stuff his fingers in Merlin’s mouth to keep him from crying out.

Arthur opens his eyes a little, looks from the corner of them to see Merlin bent over slightly. He’s given up on trying to touch himself through the pocket of his robe, instead sticking his hand in. He’s not moving it much, not long pulls like Arthur’s been giving himself, just what looks like hard pushes of his hand. It takes Arthur a moment to realise he’s rubbing the head of his dick against his inner thigh and that sends heat all along his spine, liquid and fast, spreading into his veins.

Merlin’s eyes are half-lidded, his mouth opened and lips wet, panting like he’s run the whole circuit around the lower town with Arthur and the other fighters. Merlin’s always been shite at it but it’s a really fucking good look on him. 

Arthur speeds his hand on his cock and takes his other one from his abused nipple to push behind his balls with his fingers, familiar shock zinging all along his legs. Arthur angles his hips forward to the edge of the bath’s bench and spreads his legs wider, a deep satisfaction filling him when he sees Merlin’s glazed look zeroing on the movement. 

“Hey, Merlin,” Arthur says. His voice isn’t steady at all anymore. Merlin’s not the only one who sounds like he’s been worked over. He doesn’t wait for Merlin to answer before saying, “Ever played with your hole?”

He was expecting Merlin to startle, but he’s too hypnotised by Arthur’s hand, rubbing back and forth between his balls and his hole. He just shakes his head dumbly. In any other situation Arthur would mock him for looking like such a dumbfuck, but right now Arthur’s actually really into it, the way Merlin’s mouth hangs open, like it’s waiting to be filled.

“It’s the best,” Arthur says. “It’s—fuck, it’s soooo good. You’ve never felt anything like it, trust me.” Arthur’s getting close now, and he thinks Merlin is too. At least he hopes so because Arthur’s all wound up, been edging himself for longer than he usually does, and seeing Merlin getting more and more wrecked, face red, isn’t fucking helping him keep it together. “You can have someone do it for you, if you like. Make you wet and loosen you up until they can put a finger in.” Arthur rubs and pushes at his rim, turns slightly to the side so Merlin can see him play with his rim through the crystal clear water. “One finger, then two—fuck, if you practice and if they’re good they can put their whole fist in there, stretch you so wide, so open, you’ll think you’ll split apart, but you’ll never want it to end.”

“Fuck. Arthur. Arthur, I want—”

“But you don’t have to wait for that,” Arthur speaks over him. “You can do it to yourself, see? Until you’re so practiced at it, you don’t really need much to just—” He pushes two fingers inside himself—the stretch good and easy—with a sharp, practiced twist of his wrist. “Yeah, just like that.”

He turns his head in time to see Merlin come, teeth buried in his lower lip and eyes fixed on where Arthur’s two fingers deep in his arse. His face is both twisted and awed and Arthur stares at him, his Merlin. His little brother who once saved his life and made promises into Arthur’s skin. Who has appointed himself his protector somehow. His Merlin who only exists as security in case of Arthur’s death and yet has decided to make Arthur’s continuous life his goal. 

His Merlin—as of today, a man, all grown-up—who will now have an infinite choice of suitors to fuck and be fucked by, and yet has come running down his inner leg from an orgasm that his older brother, however indirectly, gave him.

And Arthur comes like that, with eyes fixed on the slow descent of come and water along Merlin’s skin, catching on the hairs, with two fingers inside his arse wishing they were inside Merlin’s instead.

He thinks their father miscalculated wildly when he decided he needed a second son even though his own wife was barren, just in case, just so his throne would never be filled by someone not of his blood. Merlin isn’t meant to replace Arthur. Merlin isn’t a back-up plan. Merlin is meant to be by Arthur’s side, always. 

The sun fills the room even more now that it’s at zenith, and it’ll soon be time for Merlin to get ready for his coming-of-age ceremony. There’ll be wine and dancing and Arthur wants to be there, beside him, wants to drink the wine from his lips later and show him everything he’s been telling him about and more. 

Merlin’s eyes are wide and impossibly blue in the light, his hand still clenching the rail with trembling fingers, but his voice is low and steady when he speaks. “Show me,” he says. “Please Arthur, show me. I want—”

“Yes.” Arthur doesn’t even hesitate, loosens his grip on his softening cock and pulls out his fingers from his hole, then moves through the water to kneel on the steps by Merlin’s feet. He kisses the side of Merlin’s knee with soft, soft lips, scared for a moment of spooking him. But when he feels Merlin’s fingers in his hair, he darts his tongue out, licks at the come on his shin, and makes a promise with the taste of his brother in his mouth. “Yes.”

 

 


End file.
